


Chain Reaction

by Weisse_Rose



Series: Horny Sherlock Compilation (stand-alone first time stories) [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Horny Sherlock, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 18:53:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1828585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weisse_Rose/pseuds/Weisse_Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John tries something new and is surprised at the reaction he gets from Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chain Reaction

In hindsight, John was never able to say exactly why he did it. Well, he always knew _why_ he did it. What he never figured out was what was different about this one moment compared to the thousand other moments just like it.

They were almost out the door, giddy with anticipation at the prospect of a new promising case when John suddenly stopped short and turned around. 

Sherlock, completely taken by surprise, almost crashed into him. John looked up at his taller friend and said “Um.”

The detective frowned down on him.

“Eloquently put, John.”

John gave him a glare and tried again.

“I...um...have been meaning to ask you something.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Is it about the pubic hair in the fridge? Because that is a vital part of the Thompson investigation. It could completely turn the whole case around if this experiment yields the result I expect.”

“No, this is not about the-”

John stopped short and narrowed his eyes. 

“There is _what_ in our fridge?”

For several seconds, they just stared at each other, Sherlock with the expression of a man suffering unjustly at the hands of an unreasonable flat mate, John with an air of resigned anger.

Then John’s expression softened and he wearily rubbed a hand over his eyes.

“Never mind. I don’t think this is the right moment.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes again.

“Whatever it is, just get it out, so we can get to this case. It could be a 7. Possibly an 8 if we’re lucky.”

Sherlock’s eyes were alight with a childlike glee now and John couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Fine. Here goes.”

He took a step forward, went up on tiptoes and placed a chaste kiss on Sherlock’s lips. 

It lasted for several seconds, but there was no tongue involved. John never opened his mouth. 

He took a step back and cautiously peered up at Sherlock. The detective had a shocked expression frozen on his face. John waited for what seemed like an eternity, but could in reality only have been a few seconds. 

Sherlock did not move a muscle. In fact, John was not certain if he was still breathing. The doctor gave him a couple more seconds just to be sure. 

“Okay. I guess that’s a ‘No’ on that, then. Shall we get-”

He never got to finish the thought, because Sherlock slammed into him, pinning him next to the door to their flat. The back of John’s head connected painfully with the wall behind him.

“What the _bloody_ -”

He never got to finish that thought either. Sherlock’s mouth crashed into the doctor’s and this time, the kiss was anything but chaste. The second the doctor opened his mouth slightly, Sherlock’s clever tongue was on him. The detective’s left hand was raking through John’s hair, his right had somehow gotten under his shirt.

When Sherlock pulled back to peel the jacket off John’s shoulders, the doctor tried to collect his thoughts. He clumsily lifted his arms as Sherlock tore the shirt off him as well. He opened his mouth to say, hey, slow down, take it easy, but Sherlock choose that moment to suck on his nipple, so what he actually said was, “Ungh.”

The detective bit his chest and John could have sworn that the other man was _growling_.

Sherlock’s hands and tongue were roving over his chest, throat, jaw, cheeks and hair. The detective stopped growling and made a desperate sound in between a moan and a sigh that made John’s knees go weak.

For the span of a second, John saw a clear vision of himself, taking one swing with a tiny pickaxe at the Hoover dam, then finding himself suddenly buried under tons of onrushing water and wondering what the hell had just happened.

He came back to himself when he realized that Sherlock was undoing his belt buckle.

“ _Jesus_ , Sherlock.”

At that, the frantic movements stopped and Sherlock looked up into John’s eyes. John’s breath caught in his throat. The swirl of colour in Sherlock’s eyes, which John had never managed to completely pin down, had vanished. Instead, his pupils were completely blown, making his eyes look almost entirely black. John made another valiant effort at coherent speech and failed. 

Sherlock seemed to be satisfied by whatever he saw in John’s face and resumed pulling down John’s trousers in one swift movement. Before John regained his senses long enough to protest, Sherlock had manhandled him out of the trousers pooling at his feet and was dragging him over to John’s chair.

Sherlock shoved him down into the chair and, for lack of a better word in the English language, _pounced_ on him. Again, long fingers were drawing slowly over his chest and biceps, while a quick tongue licked at his throat. Sherlock bit down on his neck and made a sound that John could only describe as a purr. 

John reconsidered his earlier analogy as insufficient. What he had actually done was drop a needle which set off an avalanche that buried a small country in its wake. _My bad, Switzerland. Terribly sorry._

Whenever he had allowed himself the luxury to fantasize, it had never been quite like this. In his mind, Sherlock had been his usual composed self, above everything and in complete control of the situation. Instead, he was being assaulted by a shaking desperate mess of a man. The thought that it was him, John Watson, who had reduced the world’s only consulting detective to this state was nothing short of mind-blowing.

John’s contemplations ended abruptly when Sherlock’s exploration of his body moved southward until he was blowing a hot breath over his still clothed erection. John decided that they had passed the point where he wanted to tell Sherlock to slow down and take it easy. 

Sherlock took a hold of the waistband of the doctor’s pants and got rid of the last item of clothing in his way. In one swift movement, Sherlock took him into his mouth. John’s hands clenched on the arm rests and it was his turn to make a sound that could not be classified in the English language.

Sherlock looked up at him then and John was hit squarely in the chest by the awareness that is was _Sherlock Fucking Holmes_ going down on him and the thought brought him dangerously close to the edge. 

When they locked eyes, he could have sworn that Sherlock was _smirking_ at him. The action should have been impossible, what with his cock in his mouth, but somehow Sherlock pulled it off anyway. The detective’s movements sped up and John lost the last remnants of his self-control. He removed his hands from the arm rests and entangled his right hand in Sherlock’s curls, marvelling at how he had never quite realized how much he wanted to do that until this moment. 

John felt his orgasm approaching fast and bit down on left wrist to keep in a scream which would probably have awakened their immediate neighbours. When he came, he saw a white flash and thought how ridiculous it would be to pass out because of a blow job. For one, he was pretty sure that he’d have to look at a smug expression on Sherlock’s face for the rest of his life. 

He managed to pull himself together and opened his eyes, only to find the detective hovering mere inches from his face. Sherlock’s hands were on the arm rests, his knuckles white. The detective seemed to be vibrating with the effort of holding himself still. John saw uncertainty in his face and despair, as if he were afraid that John might jump up and leave at any moment. Most clearly among the emotions warring on the detective’s face was a desperate longing. John revelled for a moment in the fact that it was directed at him. A memory flickered through his mind at the sight. _I've never begged for mercy in my life._

John took pity on his friend and, putting his right hand on his neck, drew him down into another passionate kiss. Sherlock responded eagerly and started to move against him frantically, all pretence of self-control forgotten. John drew back to catch his breath and said “Stop.” 

Sherlock stilled immediately and looked into John’s eyes, the fear written plainly in his features. The doctor smiled at him and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Let me.” It was not an easy task, with the taller man practically draped on his lap, limbs everywhere, but John managed to unbutton the detective’s trousers. Their eyes locked and John thought that this must be the most erotic thing he had ever seen in his life. Sherlock Holmes, debauched and desperate, in his lap.

The moment John closed his fist around the other man’s erection, Sherlock came, still in his pants. He shuddered and went completely boneless. John put his other arm around the detective’s shoulders and drew him close. It was an awkward position, but neither of them seemed inclined to move. John suspected that maybe 10 minutes had passed since they stood in the doorway, and felt like he should be embarrassed about it, but he couldn’t be arsed to care.

After what felt like an eternity, Sherlock slowly started to pull back and lift his eyes to John’s. He wore a sheepish look that John couldn’t help but find adorable. Even more adorable was the fact that the detective was blushing a deep red. 

“I think my conclusions might have been a bit premature. Is this a ‘Yes’ then?”

John smiled up at the detective and was delighted to see an answering smirk on Sherlock’s face.


End file.
